


Downing Street (Season 1)

by allnewbrandon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allnewbrandon/pseuds/allnewbrandon
Summary: The staff of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom work to resolve problems big and small in both their professional and personal lives.
Kudos: 1





	1. Eight Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly elected Prime Minister’s staff deals with their boss’s latest blunder: making a crack at a popular member of Parliament.

The series opens on an establishing shot of 10 Downing Street, the stately office of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. The bright sun and vibrant blue sky indicates that it’s early in the day. Inside the building, we follow a staffer as they walk into the press room. A visibly irritated half white, half Indian woman in her early 30s is standing in front of a podium, taking questions from a gathering of journalists.

:: **Young Woman** : New Statesman?

The camera moves to a short-haired blonde carrying a notepad.

:: **New Statesman Reporter** : Meera, how was the Prime Minister’s meeting with the Japanese ambassador?

Meera’s expression stays somewhere between annoyed and bored as she answers. 

:: **Meera** : The meeting was highly productive. Ambassador Takahashi and the Prime Minister share similar goals and were happy to renew the great friendship between the UK and Japan. 

The reporter jots down her answer as the others clamor for Meera’s attention.

:: **Meera** : Bloomberg?

We pan over to a brunette correspondent with a pixie cut. 

:: **Bloomberg Reporter** : I have a source saying that the Prime Minister is in talks to open up Chequers to the public for tours. Is that true?

Meera scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

:: **Meera** : You need to better investigate your sources. Opening Chequers up to the public would threaten the security of the Prime Minister and his family, not to mention the priceless art stored there.

She points at a well-dressed black reporter.

:: **Meera** : Sky News?

He looks down at his phone as he replies.

:: **Sky News Reporter** : We have an anonymous source that claims they heard the Prime Minister say, and I quote “he needs to spend less time watching rugby and more time educating himself on the issues” in reference to longtime MP Thomas Chambers. Can you confirm this?

This finally grabs Meera, who freezes with her eyes wide open and her mouth agape.

:: **Meera** : I...umm...I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

The lobby is filled with the sound of journalists shouting her name.

:: **Meera** : That’s all for now, thank you.

She sprints off stage, the staffer who watched the conference following closely behind her and handing her a cup of coffee.

:: **Meera** : Bullocks. 

Meera groans and rubs her forehead as she walks down the hall. 

* * *

In a highly organized office, a woman in her late 50s with graying red hair and a stern expression is going through paperwork. She looks up from her desk when a young male staffer walks inside.

:: **Staffer** : Mrs. Llewellyn? Ms. Jones would like to see you.

She gives a short nod. 

:: **Older Woman** : Thank you, James, send her in.

He smiles and ducks out of her office. A few seconds later, Meera storms inside, her previously straight hair in a mess and her face red. 

:: **Meera** : Did you hear? Have you heard, Thea? 

Thea raises an eyebrow, taking a sip from the mug on her desk that’s labeled “World’s Best Mum”. 

:: **Thea** : Close the door. 

She slams it shut, causing Thea to jump a little in her chair. 

:: **Thea** : Calm down, Meera. You’re the Prime Minister’s press secretary, not a drunk rugby fan whose home team just lost. 

The younger woman winces at the mention of rugby.

:: **Meera** : You do watch the press briefings, don’t you? I feel like that should be a part of being the principal private secretary. 

Thea glares at her employee and points at the chair in front of her desk.

:: **Thea** : Meera. Calm down.

She quickly nods and sits in front of her boss.

:: **Meera** : Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s just...I was asked a very troubling question by a Sky News correspondent.

The redhead rests her elbow on her desk and her chin on her hand.

:: **Thea** : You should really learn these people’s names. 

Meera seems baffled by the suggestion.

:: **Meera** : Why? They’re journalists, it’s not like they’re important.

Her boss waves the topic away. 

:: **Meera** : Anyways, he heard that the Prime Minister said that MP Thomas Chambers should, and I quote “spend less time watching rugby and more time educating himself on the issues”. He wanted to know if that was true.

Thea grits her teeth and sighs. 

:: **Meera** : So it is. Great! Wonderful. Excellent. Not a problem at all. Only two months into this job and we’re already dealing with PR disasters.

The private secretary rubs her chin and looks over at the clock. It’s 12:00 noon.

:: **Thea** : We need to deal with this quickly. I don’t want it to reach the PM. He’s got enough to handle already.

Meera quickly nods in agreement. 

:: **Thea** : James? 

Her assistant walks into the office.

:: **James** : Yes, ma’am?

She thinks over the situation for a moment.

:: **Thea** : Get me Martin, Jack, John, and Miranda. 

James nods and heads off as Thea looks to Meera.

:: **Thea** : We’ve got a long day ahead of us.

The press secretary leans back in her chair and groans.

* * *

In Thea's office, an impeccably dressed gray-haired man in his 60s, a handsome brunette man in his 30s, a bearded bald man in his 40s, and a dark-haired woman in her 30s wearing a brightly colored pantsuit have joined Thea and Meera. 

:: **Meera** : I don’t need this. I went to Oxford, you know. Oxford and Cambridge! 

She points at the handsome man in his 30s.

:: **Meera** : Where did you go?

He looks around nervously.

:: **Young Man** : Are you talking to me?

The press secretary nods aggressively.

:: **Meera** : Yes, Jack, you. 

Jack scratches the back of his neck.

:: **Jack** : Harvard...

Meera scoffs and rolls her eyes.

:: **Meera** : Harvard is where they send the kids who couldn't get into the English schools! 

Thea sighs and hides her face in her hand.

:: **Thea** : Enough. The man is the chief strategic adviser, I think he’s qualified for the job.

Jack smiles proudly as the older man clears his throat.

:: **Older Man** : The Prime Minister says these things from time to time. He's a young man. 

Thea nods at her coworker. 

:: **Thea** : Be that as it may, Martin, him insulting a beloved member of Parliament could make trouble for us. 

Jack leans on Thea's bookshelf, his arms folded.

:: **Jack** : Why are we so sure this won’t blow over? In America, politicians insult each other all the time. 

The bald man raises his hand.

:: **Bald Man** : The British at least enjoy pretending that they’re well mannered. 

The dark-haired woman nods.

:: **Dark-Haired Woman** : John and Thea are right. This isn’t just a PR problem either, it’s going to make it hard for us to get policy enacted. Chambers has a lot of friends.

Meera bangs her head against the wall.

:: **Meera** : The man was Churchill’s paper boy. The Prime Minister might as well have said “yay, Hitler”! 

Thea looks around the room at her staff.

:: **Thea** : Dramatic as Meera can be, she’s right about the possible negative consequences this could have. Meera, keep the press off the story. Martin, keep the Prime Minister off the story. John, find the leaker. Jack, figure out what our worst case scenario is. Let’s get this done.

The senior staff murmur in understanding and file out of the office, all except the dark-haired woman, who stands in front of Thea with a confused expression.

:: **Dark-Haired Woman** : So, umm...what do I do?

The private secretary looks up at her employee.

:: **Thea** : Put on a happy face, Miranda. We’ve got a meeting with an MP.

Miranda’s eyes widen as Thea stands up and walks past her.

* * *

John walks around the office in big steps, his arms behind his back. This clearly puts everyone on edge. The clock reads 1:00. 

:: **John** : Clara? 

A dark-haired staffer looks up from her computer with one eyebrow raised.

:: **Clara** : Yes, Mr. Eaton? 

He leans in with an intense expression on his face. 

:: **John** : Talk to any papers lately?

She backs away, looking unnerved. Martin walks by, dragging John behind him.

:: **Martin** : Good day, Clara. Hope the family's doing well.

The aide smiles at the older man while John glares. He and Martin walk and talk down a hallway.

:: **John** : I had that handled! She was going to crack!

Martin sighs and shakes his head.

:: **Martin** : That woman was an MP's senior assistant for a decade. She's raised funds for over a dozen charitable organizations. I don't think she's our leaker.

John folds his arms and grumbles. 

:: **Martin** : I want to tie this up as much as you do, but you're the head of operations here. You ought to compose yourself with some manners.

He clears his throat and quickly nods.

:: **John** : Yes, of course. My bad, Sir Wicke. 

Martin winces at his fellow employee.

:: **Martin** : John, we worked together on the Prime Minister's campaign for over a year. You can call me Martin. 

John nods again as the older man walks in front of him.

:: **John** : I thought I should compose myself with some manners...

Martin looks back at John, who quickly looks away.

:: **John** : I trust you're taking care of the Prime Minister?

The older man chuckles at that.

:: **Martin** : I'm his chief adviser, not his jockey. 

John shrugs in reply.

:: **John** : All the same…

The chief adviser nods and smiles.

:: **Martin** : He’s playing a few rounds of golf with the President of the United States. We have some time to fix this.

The two men walk into Martin’s office, which is tidy but sparsely decorated. 

:: **John** : You’ve received over twenty prestigious awards, why does your office look like an abandoned warehouse?

Martin sits in his chair and pours two cups of hot tea.

:: **Martin** : Bragging is unsightly. Joan!

Martin’s assistant, a middle-aged blonde woman with bags under her eyes, walks into his office.

:: **Joan** : Yes, Mr. Wicke?

He smiles up at her. 

:: **Martin** : Can you get me a list of people present for the Prime Minister’s briefing last Tuesday? 

She gives a curt nod.

:: **Martin** : Thank you. Have some tea.

Flattered by his consideration, Joan grins and takes the cup before leaving. Martin turns to John.  
  


:: **Martin** : That’s how you tie these things up. Earl Grey?

Somewhere between impressed and envious, John nods and sits in front of the older man. 

* * *

Meera is leaning back in her chair when her assistant walks in and hands her a folder. Her office is messy and covered in both Oxford and Cambridge memorabilia. Her clock says the time is 2:30.

:: **Meera** : Thank you, Chelsea.

As she walks out, Jack takes her place. Meera doesn’t look up from the folder, which she takes her time reading through.

:: **Jack** : I had to cancel a date for this, you know. 

The press secretary’s eyes dart up to her coworker.

:: **Meera** : A win for all womankind. 

He leans against the wall and sighs.

:: **Jack** : This could be bad for us. 

Meera turns a page, her expression unchanged. 

:: **Meera** : What is it with men and golf? Can you not have a serious discussion in an air conditioned room?

He turns to face her.

:: **Jack** : The grass calms us. If we don’t take care of this situation, things with the Tories will be even worse. They already despise him.

She yawns and flips through the pages.

:: **Meera** : Not to mention the less radical Labour members. The Prime Minister can’t just make a crack at an elder statesman. 

Jack groans and rubs his eyes.

:: **Jack** : He crossed the aisle to make our jobs harder.

She nods and stands up, tossing the papers aside.

:: **Meera** : I’m quickly finding that it’s his job to make our jobs harder.

The strategic adviser looks down at the folder on her desk.

:: **Jack** : What is that?

Meera stretches for a moment before filing it away.

:: **Meera** : My job. I’ve got another press briefing in…

She checks the clock.

:: **Meera** : Thirty minutes. I bet I can get a lunch table at that exclusive new restaurant down the street. 

He looks at her with a baffled expression.

:: **Jack** : You read incredibly fast.

The press secretary pats him on the back before walking out.

:: **Meera** : Oxford AND Cambridge, Jack!

He nods and rolls his eyes.

* * *

Martin and John are drinking tea as the former goes through the list. The time is 4:00. 

:: **Martin** : I do believe we can eliminate the senior staff from our list of suspects.

The head of operations shrugs.

:: **John** : I don’t know about the director of communications. Seems like a nosy fellow.

Martin chuckles as he goes down the page.

:: **Martin** : That leaves ten secondary staff and five aides. We’re going to be here for a while.

John puts his feet up on Martin’s desk, before the older man’s glare quickly prompts him to withdraw them. We cut to a little while later, where the two are meeting with an anxious looking young assistant. Martin is seated, while John stands next to him. 

:: **Martin** : You were present for the Prime Minister’s briefing last Tuesday, correct?

Sweat pouring down his face, the young man slowly nods.

:: **Assistant** : Yes, I...I, umm...I mean, yes, I, uh, was.

The head of operations slams his hands down on the desk.

:: **John** : You did it, didn’t you?!

The assistant breaks down, sobbing into his hands.

:: **Young Assistant** : Yes! I stole the Prime Minister’s pen!

Martin and John look at each other with disappointment. Later, they’re meeting with a middle aged assistant who looks agitated.

:: **John** : You were present for the Prime Minister’s briefing last Tuesday, correct?

She raises an eyebrow.

:: **Middle Aged Assistant** : I didn’t leak the story. In fact, I’ve been working for the Prime Minister longer than you. 

John scrunches up his face.

:: **John** : You can go.

Their next interrogatee is a college-aged aide with a calm expression.

:: **Martin** : Ms. Truglio, you were given the task of recording the Prime Minister’s briefing last week, correct? 

She nods and smiles.

:: **Young Aide** : Yes, I was. 

John squints at her.

:: **John** : You, of course, know that such information is highly private. You wouldn’t have shared it with anyone outside Downing Street, would you?

The aide takes a deep breath.

:: **Young Aide** : Of course not. Why would I have shared it with the handsome reporter from Sky News who promised me it would be a big story? 

Her eyes go wide when she realizes what she just blurted out.

:: **Young Aide** : Damn it.

Martin and John smile at each other.

:: **Martin** : I think we have our leaker.

She groans and covers her face.

* * *

Miranda and Thea are escorted into a conference room by an assistant. Waiting for them is a well-dressed, portly older man with an indecipherable expression. He stands up as they walk over to him. The time is 6:00.

:: **Thea** : MP Chambers. It’s good to see you again.

He nods and shakes her hand. 

:: **Chambers** : Same to you, Mrs. Llewellyn. 

Thea motions toward her coworker. 

:: **Thea** : This is Miranda Scott-Helms, the Prime Minister’s director of policy. 

Chambers shakes Miranda’s hand, his expression unchanging.

:: **Chambers** : Nice to meet you.

She flashes a nervous smile and quickly nods.

:: **Miranda** : It’s an honor to meet you, sir.

The three public servants seat themselves, Miranda next to Thea and Chambers opposite them.

:: **Chambers** : I imagine I know what this is about.

Thea folds her hands and nods.

:: **Thea** : Yes, I imagine you do. 

Miranda shyly raises her hand.

:: **Miranda** : You do know it’s about what the Prime Minister said, right?

He nods and she bashfully lowers her hand.

:: **Thea** : We wanted to apologize on his behalf. 

The MP scoffs in reply. 

:: **Chambers** : Yes, that’s what I suspected. Your chief strategic adviser told you I’d make things difficult for you in Parliament.

Miranda leans in to whisper in Thea’s ear.

:: **Miranda** : He’s really good.

The older woman sighs and rests her hand on her face.

:: **Miranda** : He really is sorry, you know.

Chambers raises an eyebrow.

:: **Chambers** : Yes? Then why are you here instead of him? 

Thea peers at him through her glasses.

:: **Thea** : He’s meeting with the President. You and I both know these things aren’t done in present, Thomas.

Chambers sighs and folds his arms.

:: **Chambers** : I already didn’t like your man, Thea. I thought he was soft on crime and naive about economics. I like being condescended to even less.

Miranda slams her hands down on the table, drawing the attention of both her boss and the MP.

:: **Miranda** : It was a mistake!

The older man’s eyes widen at her boldness.

:: **Miranda** : He made a mistake. He said something rude and disrespectful that he shouldn’t have.

He squints his eyes, uncertain of where she’s going.

:: **Miranda** : We’re going to make mistakes, MP Chambers. Everyone who’s ever tried to do something meaningful in this world has made mistakes. But the Prime Minister loves the UK. We all do. We’re going to try our damned hardest to put more power in the hands of the people and make this country a freer, more equal place. We can’t do that without Parliament’s help. We can’t do that without your help. 

Thea looks at her pupil, clearly impressed.

:: **Chambers** : Alright then.

The two staff members look at Chambers in surprise.

:: **Miranda** : What?

He sits up in his chair.

:: **Chambers** : You’ve convinced me. I won’t make a situation out of it.

Miranda lets out a sigh of relief as Thea grins.

:: **Thea** : Thank you, Thomas.

Chambers smiles and waves it away.

:: **Chambers** : You’ve got one hell of a staff working under you, Thea.

She looks at her employee with pride.

:: **Thea** : Don’t I know it…

The camera zooms out on the conference room as the three continue to talk. 

* * *

Back at Downing Street, John and Martin are watching a repeat broadcast of Meera’s 3:00 press conference. Almost all of the staffers have cleared out of the office. The clock reads 8:00. 

:: **Meera** : The office of the Prime Minister is not interested in moving the discussion away from serious issues and onto gossip. 

Martin smiles proudly. 

:: **Martin** : Isn’t she something to watch?

John slowly nods. Miranda and Thea soon walk in, carrying cups of coffee.

:: **Miranda** : Thea bought me coffee.

She wears a satisfied smile as Martin turns to Thea.

:: **Martin** : Chambers is taken care of?

Thea motions towards the director of policy.

:: **Thea** : These kids are going to do just fine without us, Martin.

He chuckles and nods. Jack runs into the room, gasping for breath.

:: **Jack** : Everyone, if we don’t resolve this situation, our entire legislative plan will be thrown off course. Chambers is friends with-

He stops himself as he notices how calm everyone is.

:: **Jack** : We’re in the clear?

They nod and he lets out a relieved groan, collapsing onto the nearest desk. Meera strolls in, wearing a heavy coat.

:: **Meera** : Are we good? I have a date waiting for me.

Miranda triumphantly raises her coffee cup.

:: **Miranda** : We’re good.

The press secretary shares a rare smile as the senior staff finally takes a moment to relax.

:: **Thea** : Good work, everyone. I think we’re going to make it through this job alive.

They all grin, talking amongst themselves as the camera zooms out on Downing Street by night.


	2. The Web of Accomplishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm traps the senior staff inside Downing Street, causing tensions to escalate and deeply rooted fears to arise.

The episode opens in the conference room, where Meera, Jack, John, and Miranda are eating Chinese takeout. Folders and papers are strewn about the table.

:: **Meera** : Have any of you ever met Miranda's wife?

Jack thinks about it for a moment before shaking his head, his mouth full and half an egg roll in his hand. John picks up a clump of rice with a pair of chopsticks and turns to the press secretary.

:: **John** : Not once. I would’ve remembered...I have an impeccable memory.

The younger man swallows his food and rolls his eyes. Miranda smiles and stabs a piece of Kung Pao chicken.

:: **Miranda** : I’m sure you’ve all met her. We all meet hundreds of people every week, I wouldn’t blame any of you for forgetting.

Meera shakes her head and snatches a box of fried rice from a visibly annoyed Jack.

:: **Meera** : While I usually try to erase all the inane people I meet from my brain, we’ve known each other for years. I’d remember her.

Jack steals an unopened soda from Meera.

:: **Jack** : I wonder what she’s like. Is she like another Miranda? Short haired eternal optimist type?

Meera waves his suggestion away as Miranda rolls her eyes at the conversation.

:: **Meera** : That would be amazing and horrifying, but I doubt it. Opposites attract. 

Jack grins and nods as he opens the can.

:: **Jack** : So she’s a gloomy long-haired Tory? 

Meera snickers and grabs the soda before he can take a drink.

:: **Meera** : Like a conservative goth Rapunzel. 

He bursts into laughter as Miranda crosses her arms and pouts.

:: **Miranda** : Okay, fine, none of you have ever met her. Must I be punished for wanting to keep my career and my personal life separate?

Meera and Jack nod at the same time.

:: **Meera** : Absolutely.

She grumbles and slouches as Thea walks in.

:: **Thea** : Good evening, everyone. Go back to what you were discussing.

Miranda immediately fixes her posture while Meera tosses a box of takeout to their boss.

:: **Meera** : Thea trusts us. We’ve all met her wife.

Jack and John nod in agreement.

:: **Jack** : Melanie’s a lovely woman. She’s the aunt I never had.

Thea raises an eyebrow.

:: **Thea** : Please never call my wife your aunt again, for professionalism’s sake.

He gives a sheepish nod and slouches in his chair. Miranda sticks her tongue out at him, causing him to glare at her in response.

* * *

Rain pours down and thunder crackles outside Jack’s window. His office is highly disorganized, with Harvard merchandise and pictures of him with an assortment of women lining the walls. He's sitting in his chair, while Meera is leaning on the shelf next to his desk. Miranda walks in, delicately balancing a tray with three paper cups full of hot coffee on it. 

:: **Meera** : Coffee machines are God's punishment for man's hubris. 

Jack, who's holding his phone in one hand and his face in the other, looks up at his coworkers.

:: **Jack** : Was Meera talking about me?

Meera takes two of the cups, one of which she hands to Jack.

:: **Meera** : I try not to whenever possible. 

Miranda smiles and seats herself in the chair opposite the strategic adviser.

:: **Miranda** : The storm's not breaking any time soon, but I think all the other staffers got home safe. I also made some other calls. Meera, your parents are safe. Jack, Lucy is alright. 

Meera gives an ambivalent shrug and Jack waves it away.

:: **Jack** : I'm not dating Lucy anymore. We broke up a week ago.

Miranda's eyes widen and she nods.

:: **Miranda** : That's why she sounded like she thought I was a lunatic…

The press secretary warms her hands on the cup.

:: **Meera** : Well…

Miranda shoots daggers at her old friend, who flashes a cheeky smile in response.

:: **Meera** : How's Mystery Wife?

The director of policy's icy expression melts at the show of concern.

:: **Miranda** : She's safe.

Jack and Meera smile.

:: **Jack** : And the kids?

Miranda raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip.

:: **Miranda** : We don't have children. Not yet, anyways…

He gasps and bumps his cup against Meera's.

:: **Meera** : He was just fishing for information. 

Miranda gives an offended scoff and snatches Jack's cup, causing him to pout. 

:: **Jack** : Where's John? 

In the conference room, John is using a marker to draw a massive, interconnected web of names, ideas, and issues on a paper canvas. It can best be described as a makeshift investigation board. Martin walks in, holding a mug full of tea, and looks at his fellow employee with concern.

:: **Martin** : John? Are you alright?

John looks up from his pet project, eyes wide with the kind of deranged energy that late night caffeine can provide. 

:: **John** : Yes, of course. Why do you ask?

Martin raises an eyebrow and motions towards the paper.

:: **John** : Oh, this? It’s a little something I’ve been working on. We’re going to need everyone for it. 

Martin slowly nods. We cut a few moments into the future, where Meera, Jack, and Miranda have joined the two men. Miranda looks worried, while Meera is annoyed and Jack is amused.

:: **Jack** : What the hell is this…?

The press secretary closes her eyes and rubs her temples. John smacks the marker against the pad, causing her to jolt in her seat.

:: **John** : This, my young friends, is the web of accomplishment. It is an intricate map of everything we talked about doing in our first year of office and the people we’ll need to do those things. It is my magnum opus, my _Der Ring des Nibelungen_.

Meera rests her arms on the conference room table. 

:: **Meera** : You want us to work after office hours are over? 

Miranda perks up at that prospect.

:: **Miranda** : That sounds fun!

Jack kicks his feet up on the table.

:: **Jack** : If we had met in school, I almost certainly wouldn’t have been friends with you.

She frowns as the camera cuts to Martin, who is busy analyzing the so-called “web of accomplishment”. 

:: **Martin** : This is quite ambitious, John...if a little disturbing.

John smiles proudly and stands tall. 

:: **John** : So, are you all in? Let's put this extra time to good use!

Martin gives a short nod, Miranda eagerly agrees, Meera reluctantly joins in, and Jack thinks it over for a moment.

:: **Jack** : Hmm...alright.

The coffee addled head of operations grins and claps his hands together. 

:: **John** : Then let’s get to work.

We pull back on the conference room as John begins to add to his masterpiece and explain it to his fellow staff members.

* * *

The scene opens on a close-up of an old photo in a small, crooked frame. A young, tall redhead is standing next to a short dark-haired woman in a park, both of them smiling proudly. In front of the pair is a young blond boy. The camera zooms out to reveal Thea’s office. She’s holding her office phone to her ear as she stands, a look of worry on her face.

:: **Thea** : Come on…

Lightning strikes in the distance, startling the older woman. 

:: **Thea** : Bloody Nora...

Her eyes go wide and she lets out a relieved smile.

:: **Thea** : Jacob? Are you okay?

In a small house in the middle of the storm, we see a good looking blond man in his 30s. He looks exhausted, his glasses barely hanging onto his nose. He’s standing in the living room, which is covered in souvenirs, photographs, and toys.

:: **Jacob** : Mum? Is that you?

She sighs and grins.

:: **Thea** : Yes. I imagine my voice isn’t entirely coming through?

He looks similarly comforted.

:: **Jacob** : Unfortunately not. I’ve never seen a storm like this.

Thea’s smile turns to a frown.

:: **Thea** : Neither have I, and I’ve lived a hell of a lot longer than you have.

Jacob smiles and laughs. 

:: **Jacob** : It’s good to hear from you, Mum. I just wish the circumstances were better.

She pauses, clearly shaken by that statement.

:: **Thea** : Yes, well, so do I. Marie is alright? And the children?

He holds the phone out.

:: **Marie** : COME TO BED!

Thea chuckles and nods to herself.

:: **Thea** : Good. Stay safe.

Jacob runs a hand through his hair and smiles.

:: **Jacob** : You too, Mum.

She ends the call and faces the storm as it rages outside.

* * *

In the conference room, most of the senior staff has turned to junk food and soda while John crosses off and circles names and ideas on the paper pad.

:: **John** : Alright, we’re on track with foreign aid, taxes can’t be helped...what’s next?

Miranda, hopped up on a nondescript diet cola, stands up and walks over to the web of accomplishment.

:: **Miranda** : The big one.

Jack briefly raises his hand before she shakes her head, causing him to lower it with a disappointed look. She instead points at a bubble with the words “SCHOOL PRAYER” written in it.

:: **Jack** : Oh. That big one.

John grins and nods, everyone looking to Martin for his opinion.

:: **Martin** : Well, the Prime Minister’s wanted to do it since the start, and so have I. Why not? 

They all cheer except Meera, whose folded arms and concerned expression indicate uncertainty.

:: **Meera** : We’re really going to do that? We’re going to challenge the law requiring school prayer in one of the most Christian countries in the world?

Miranda, hands on her hips, nods proudly.

:: **Miranda** : Yes, we are. 

The press secretary raises her hands ambivalently.

:: **Meera** : Okay then. 

John, using his marker as a pointer, leads the staff from the school prayer bubble to a group of five names: Kelly Jameson, Rebecca Thornberg, Zurin Khan, Corrine Callahan, and Atticus Solsbury. 

:: **John** : This, as you all know, is Labour leadership. They're in favor of doing away with this archaic law, which means we'll have the support of their allies too.

He then follows a strand to another group of names. These are Winston Herring, Spencer Walpole, Hera Stanton, John Cavendish, and Thomas Chambers.

:: **John** : This is Conservative leadership. A majority of their party's representation in Parliament will be opposing us. 

Jack’s hand darts up, prompting John to nod towards him. 

:: **Jack** : Chambers is old school Irish Catholic, but he’s firmly in support of civil liberties. His sect of Parliament might just cross the aisle to help us out on this one. 

John draws a small check mark in green next to Chambers’ name.

:: **John** : Very good, Jack. 

He smiles proudly and leans back in his chair. Meera rolls her eyes.

:: **Meera** : If we’re going to do this, we should at least scope out our blind spots. Not every Labour MP is going to back us, not to mention the members of other parties.

Miranda smiles and nods.

:: **Miranda** : Good idea, Meera. See, we can do this! 

Meera’s expression is unchanged by the positive feedback. Miranda grabs John’s marker, much to his annoyance, and begins to alter the web of accomplishment. 

* * *

Under Miranda’s reign, the web of accomplishment has become considerably more convoluted and interconnected. Jack, who has broken out his reading glasses, is filing through a binder.

:: **Jack** : Miller has said that he won’t repeal the law, which counts out his faction. 

Miranda bites her bottom lip as she considers their next move.

:: **Miranda** : That’s alright! We’ll make it up somewhere else...I bet we’ll get Luther. He has a lot of sway.

Meera groans, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to her.

:: **Meera** : No, we won’t.   
  


The director of policy raises an eyebrow.

:: **Miranda** : Well, we can get votes from another group. Plenty of people are behind on us on this.

Her friend sighs and shakes her head.

:: **Meera** : No, I mean we won’t get this done. It’s a waste of time.

Miranda scoffs and sits across from the other woman, the rest of the room going quiet.

:: **Miranda** : Granting the people of this country we govern more liberties is a waste of time? You must think this whole job is a fool’s errand.

The press secretary rolls her eyes.

:: **Meera** : Don’t be dramatic. You’re always so dramatic.

Miranda’s eyes widen and her jaw drops.

:: **Miranda** : Me?! I’m dramatic?!

Meera snorts and nods.

:: **Meera** : Yes, you’re dramatic. You think people will respect us for making a bold move, as if this is a game of chess. The masses will hate us, the press will eviscerate us, and that’s not mentioning the swaths of MPs who will turn against us. We won’t succeed and we might not get anything else done in office because of it.

In a move that sort of proves Meera right about the whole dramatic thing, Miranda stands up tall and points at her colleague.

:: **Miranda** : This is about what the press will think of us? No, this is really about you being unambitious. You’ve always sat back, I was the one who had to convince you to take this job.

The press secretary matches her longtime friend’s gaze, the other staff members equal parts enraptured by and nervous about their verbal battle.

:: **Meera** : This is about you being impractical! It’s always been true, but now you’re threatening the effectiveness of this office, and I won’t stand for that!

Miranda clenches her fists and glares at her friend.

:: **Miranda** : Go to Hell.

Meera scrunches her face up in offense.

:: **Meera** : Same to you.

They both stomp out of the room, leaving the other staff members in a stunned silence.

:: **John** : Well...perhaps now is a good time for a break.

Jack and Martin quickly nod.

* * *

Back in Thea’s office, we focus on the photograph of Thea and Melanie with Jacob. A hand comes into frame to straighten the frame, as we zoom out to show that it belongs to Martin. He smiles at his longtime friend as he sits across from her.

:: **Martin** : Trouble getting a signal?

Thea, who is brooding in her chair, slowly nods.

:: **Thea** : All the advances in the world, our phones still go dead at a drop of rain.

He chuckles and smiles.

:: **Martin** : Yes, hopefully they’ll figure out how to build a city that isn’t put out of commission by a storm while I’m still working.

Thea tilts her head to the side.

:: **Thea** : I don’t think I can imagine you retired. You were an expert when I was fresh out of LSE.

He straightens up in his chair and folds his hands.

:: **Martin** : Jennifer’s said the same thing. Still, I have this little image of a cottage in the country. Room for the grandkids to play, room for a stable. It makes the difficult days a little less so. 

This makes Thea think for a moment, Martin waiting patiently for her response.

:: **Thea** : I wonder if it was worth it sometimes. Choosing a life where I was always at work. Putting my career over my family.

Martin points at a picture on the wall. It shows Thea, sometime between the photograph at the park and now, standing among a crowd of smiling kids.

:: **Martin** : That’s from a fundraiser you organized for poor children. Do you regret any of the work?

She almost immediately shakes her head.

:: **Martin** : I believe Melanie would agree. We might not be the parents they’re closest to...but we set a good example for them. Those kids of yours are principled, kind people. You were a part of that.

Martin’s retort brings a small smile to her face.

:: **Thea** : I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Martin.

He stands up and nods, walking over to the doorway before turning to face her once more.

:: **Martin** : It’s never too late to reach out to them, you know. You’re their mother. They’ll answer.

She nods as he leaves the room, having gained a little peace of mind.

* * *

Meera is sitting in her office, her chin resting on her fist. She’s wearing small black earbuds and listening to something on her phone. Jack walks in, knocking on her door as he enters. She looks up and sighs before taking her earbuds out.

:: **Meera** : Why do people do that? Knock on the door when they’re already inside?

Jack shrugs and leans against the wall.

:: **Jack** : Well, one, I wanted to get your attention. Two, I didn’t think you’d let me come in if I asked.

She thinks it over for a moment before nodding.

:: **Meera** : Fair enough.

Jack motions towards her earbuds on the desk.

:: **Jack** : What are you listening to?

Meera reaches over to turn off her phone.

:: **Meera** : Hans Abrahamsen. I saw him when I was at Oxford. And when I was at Cambridge.

He slowly nods, clearly trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

:: **Jack** : So, are you ever going to talk to Miranda again?

She scoffs and crosses her arms.

:: **Meera** : Yes, of course. I’m not the one being dramatic.

He smiles and chuckles.

:: **Jack** : I can’t tell you whether or not this whole school prayer thing will work. It could be our legacy, our crowning achievement, or it could be the blunder that we’re remembered by for the rest of our lives.

Meera arches an eyebrow.

:: **Meera** : Is there a point to this?

Jack glares at her and she backs off.

:: **Jack** : The point is, we’re not going to figure it out with our two smartest players pissed at each other. 

He stands up and begins to walk away, Meera deep in thought.

:: **Meera** : Wait...did you just compliment me?

The strategic adviser scrunches up his face in disgust and quickly nods before fleeing the room. Meera chuckles to herself. Jack doesn’t stop running until he reaches Miranda’s office. It’s a vibrant purple room, lacking personal photographs but being rich with souvenirs from across the world. She’s listening to a song on her laptop, wearing massive headphones that must at least be a decade old.

:: **Jack** : What are you listening to?

Miranda takes off her headphones and pauses the song, raising her eyebrows.

:: **Jack** : What are you listening to?

She smiles and scratches the back of her neck.

:: **Miranda** : Mazzy Star. 90s slow jams comfort me.

He grins and sits across from her.

:: **Jack** : That’s the most Miranda thing I’ve ever heard.

The dark-haired woman shrugs and frowns.

:: **Miranda** : I feel like I’ve been living up to what other people think of me lately.

Jack sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

:: **Jack** : Meera’s a lot, but...she does care about you. In the couple of years I’ve known her, she hasn’t struck me as a person who cares about a lot of people.

She slowly nods, idly tapping on her desk.

:: **Miranda** : I know. 

He gets up and adjusts the Sarah Lawrence sweatshirt pinned to the wall.

:: **Jack** : Think about it.

She nods again, putting on her headphones and unpausing the song as she ponders the situation.

* * *

Thea is asleep, her face resting on her desk. She wakes up with a jolt as her radio goes from static to sound.

:: **Broadcaster** : This is BBC Radio 5, coming to you after a historic storm that knocked out power across London. Thankfully, we have no reports of any storm related fatalities at this time, though-

She turns off her radio and looks out her window at the clear night sky, smiling to herself. She picks up her phone and taps on a contact before holding it to her ear.

:: **Thea** : Melanie? Oh, hello, darling.

A relieved grin spreads across her face. John is carrying a rolled up piece of paper as he walks toward the exit alongside Jack and Martin.

:: **Jack** : What’s that?

John smiles proudly at his coworker.

:: **John** : This, my friends, is the web of accomplishment. When I get home, I’m going straight to work on version 2.0. That...that will be the real thing.

He speeds off toward his car, the other two men looking at each other with confusion and concern. Meera and Miranda bump into each other as they follow behind the men.

:: **Miranda** : Oh...hi.

Meera smiles at her longtime friend and sighs.

:: **Meera** : I’m sorry.

Miranda shakes her head.

:: **Miranda** : So am I. Maybe you were right, maybe we should put this away until we know more.

The press secretary waves that thought away.

:: **Meera** : No. We won this office, we’re going to make it count. Let’s do something big. 

She grins and the two continue to talk it over. The camera zooms out to show John, Jack, Martin, Meera, and Miranda walking out, soon followed by Thea, before the episode fades to black.


	3. Special Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The staff prepares for an important broadcast between the Prime Minister and the President of the United States. Jack deals with a visit from his parents, while Meera encounters a former girlfriend.

The episode opens on Downing Street in the afternoon, the beautiful trees around it blowing in the breeze. Inside, Jack escorts Thea into the conference room. 

:: **Thea** : What’s with all the subterfuge? Did you find out my birthday? I deliberately tried to obscure it from you all. 

Jack shakes his head and waves that thought away.

:: **Jack** : It’s not that, though we DID figure it out and Miranda IS throwing you an incredibly thoughtful and personal party.

Thea sighs and sits at the back of the room.

:: **Thea** : God help me. 

The strategic adviser raises his hand and snaps loudly. Miranda and Martin walk in, followed by Meera and John, who are carrying a large whiteboard. They set it up on a stand, revealing that it’s the web of accomplishment 2.0. Thea raises an eyebrow and frowns.

:: **Thea** : When was the first web of accomplishment? 

Jack shakes his head and waves her question away. Miranda grins and spreads her arms in front of the board, as if she was presenting a magic trick.

:: **Miranda** : This is our plan to repeal section 25 of the Education Act 1944.

Jack leans in, his voice hushed as he talks to his boss.

:: **Jack** : That’s the school prayer law-

She turns her head towards Jack and glares at him.

:: **Thea** : I know what it is.

He quickly backs off. Martin hands a teacher’s pointer to Miranda.

:: **Miranda** : In 2015, the Commission on Religion and Belief in British Public Life recommended that mandatory school prayer should be done away with. 

She smacks the whiteboard with her pointer, drawing attention to a section of the web based around the commission. 

:: **Miranda** : As you know, that was a highly influential group of people. There was everyone from justices to religious leaders on it, Christians included. It goes to show how close this outdated law is to collapsing. We just need to take a swing at it. 

Thea folds her arms and leans back in her chair, an inscrutable expression on her face.

:: **Miranda** : Over the past few weeks, we’ve been researching the best way to pursue this. That involves figuring out…

She moves her pointer over to a cluster representing the five pillars of Conservative Party leadership: Winston Herring, Spencer Walpole, Hera Stanton, John Cavendish, and Thomas Chambers.

:: **Miranda** :...our opposition. 

Meera growls at the mention of their enemies. Miranda circles around Thomas Chambers’ bubble.

:: **Miranda** : Now, not every conservative is going to be against us. MP Chambers has made his distaste for the law public, and he holds quite a bit of sway in both Houses.

Jack leans in again.

:: **Jack** : I pointed that out.

Thea narrows her eyebrows and looks up at him.

:: **Thea** : Very nice, Jack.

The director of policy tosses the pointer to the press secretary, who jabs the bubble of one Jane Stansfield. 

:: **Meera** : I had our old friend Jane put a poll into the field. 68% of those asked would support the law. Granted, that annoying 32% is still a lot of people. To deal with them, we need to hit the news hard.

She slides the pointer to a cluster of news organizations: BBC News, the New Statesman, Sky News, Bloomberg News, and Keystone News.

:: **Meera** : The PM is going to have to spend time campaigning, and I’m going to have to make this the focus of our upcoming press briefings. I think if we pose ourselves as champions of civil liberties and our opposition as radical traditionalists...we can win this and come out with our popularity intact.

Meera completes the circle by handing the pointer back to Martin.

:: **Martin** : Jennifer has done some scouting work for us in Parliament. Not every MP will be with us, but we have significant support in the Labour Party and independent circles. If we decide to put the repeal out there, they will stand behind us. 

John slowly raises his hand.

:: **John** : And I made the web.

Thea slowly nods. Miranda folds her hands and nervously smiles, looking at her boss in anticipation.

:: **Miranda** : So...what do you think?

The whole room goes silent as they wait for her answer. She stands up and faces her staff.

:: **Thea** : Alright, let’s do it.

A few more quiet moments pass before the rest of the room erupts into cheering, with the exception of the ever elegant Martin, who wears a small smile. Miranda approaches her mentor with a proud grin.

:: **Miranda** : I thought that was going to be a much harder sell. We’re well aware of the difficulties we’re going to face.

Thea tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

:: **Thea** : I’ve just been waiting for you all to come to me with a plan for it.

The older woman walks out of the conference room as the rest of the staff converse, Miranda watching her in awe.

:: **Miranda** : I want to be her someday. 

She turns around to talk with her friends and fellow employees as the scene fades out.

* * *

We go from a carefully planned private meeting to a busy day at the office, Thea sprinting down the hallway with an exhausted look on her face and a file in her hands. Alongside her is her assistant James, who is holding two hot cups, and a visibly anxious Miranda.

:: **Miranda** : Have you noticed that the PM likes to make snap decisions? 

Thea looks through the papers in her hands.

:: **Thea** : Yes, I thought it would be a minor issue when he approached me about a campaign. 

The director of policy looks at Thea’s assistant in confusion.

:: **Miranda** : Why are you holding two cups?

James nervously looks back and forth.

:: **James** : Mrs. Llewellyn ordered both a hot tea and a hot coffee at two separate points. 

Miranda turns to Thea, who waves it away.

:: **Thea** : I forgot that I’d ordered the tea. It’s been a stressful day.

The younger woman points at the drinks and bites her bottom lip.

:: **Miranda** : Can I have the-

Thea glares at her employee.

:: **Thea** : For God’s sake, take the tea!

Miranda sheepishly nods, James handing her one of the piping hot cups. Thea sighs and shakes her head.

:: **Thea** : I’m sorry. I’m just overwhelmed.

The dark-haired woman waves it away, taking a sip of her newly acquired tea.

:: **Miranda** : Mmm, this is excellent. Very soothing.

Thea glares at her employee, who shrinks under the older woman’s withering stare. 

:: **Thea** : Coordinating with the American government on the school prayer repeal was a smart idea on the PM’s part. We reaffirm our relationship with the Americans and we make a bold gesture as the whole world watches. It’s the perfect way to start off the process of getting this repeal passed. I just wish we had more time to plan. Hosting foreign dignitaries is a project in its own right.

She takes the coffee from James, whose tense expression melts into relief.

:: **Thea** : Take the rest of the day off, James. 

He puts his hands together and sighs.

:: **James** : Thank you.

Thea’s assistant leaves her side as Martin joins them, a piece of paper in hand.

:: **Martin** : Good afternoon, ladies.

Miranda smiles at him while Thea glances at her old friend with worry. 

:: **Thea** : Tell me that's the itinerary. 

He gives a short nod and she lets out a peaceful sigh.

:: **Thea** : Thank God. 

The younger woman leans over to look at the paper as Thea reads through it.

:: **Thea** : Sightseeing trip...dinner with the First Families...here we are, the President and the Prime Minister side by side on live television. The PM announces our plans to introduce the mandatory school prayer repeal with the American government’s public support.

Thea turns to Martin.

:: **Thea** : And we’ve cleared this with the President’s senior staff? I would not like any surprises.

Martin waves that thought away.

:: **Martin** : It’s taken care of. Now, Thea, Miranda, if you will excuse me, I have lunch scheduled with my wife.

He takes a bow and walks back to his office. Miranda lets out a wistful sigh.

:: **Miranda** : Lunch with my wife…

Thea frowns and nods.

:: **Thea** : It does seem like a while since we’ve had a break. Maybe we need to stop, refocus-

Before she can finish that thought, an anxious looking Meera has joined them.

:: **Meera** : Do you know if the President's press secretary will be there?

The redheaded woman checks the itinerary.

:: **Thea** : No, it says they're staying behind along with a few other senior staff members. 

Meera lets out a relieved sigh. A small smile comes onto Miranda's face.

:: **Miranda** : I suppose they're stretched as thin as we are. 

The press secretary nods and checks her watch.

:: **Meera** : Speaking of, I’ve got another briefing.

As she heads to do her job, Jack crosses Miranda and Thea’s path on his way out.

:: **Miranda** : Where are you going?

He takes a deep breath, holding his briefcase like it's a baby.

:: **Jack** : My parents are visiting and I have to go pick them up. 

The younger woman pats him on the shoulder.

:: **Miranda** : Good luck.

Jack gives a nervous nod as he walks off. With her pupil at her side, Thea finally reaches her destination: John’s office. It's neat and orderly, decorated carefully with a pair of fencing swords, several antiques, a number of trophies, and his family's coat of arms: a lion with a flaming mane. Notably absent are any photographs. She knocks on his already opened door, causing him to look up from his work.

:: **John** : Yes, Madam Principal Private Secretary?

The redhead leans on his doorway.

:: **Thea** : Thea's fine.

He quickly writes that down on the nearest piece of paper. 

:: **Thea** : I need you to get the rest of the senior staff on this. It’s only going to work if every department cooperates. 

John gives a solemn nod.

:: **John** : Consider it done.

She exhales and nods at her subordinate before beginning the walk back to her office. Thea turns to Miranda.

:: **Thea** : Do you think we can do this?

The younger woman confidently smiles.

:: **Miranda** : I do. 

Deciding to trust her employee, Thea nods and the two go their separate ways.

* * *

An establishing shot gives a bird’s eye view of the London Heathrow Airport in the middle of the day. Inside, Jack waits for his parents, nervously tapping his shoe against the floor. 

:: **Jack** : Come on…

In the midst of a crowd walking off the escalator and into the terminal, two well-dressed people in their sixties emerge. One is a tall, imposing woman with dark hair, while the other is a shorter brunette man wearing glasses.

:: **Jack** : Mum, Dad!

He raises his hand, catching their attention. The man grins while the woman only lets a hint of a smile peek through.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : Hello, son!

Jack’s father runs up and tackles him with a hug. He has a Received Pronunciation accent. His mother makes a slower, subtler approach. 

:: **Jack’s Mum** : I’m glad to see you’re on time.

Her voice has a carefully cultivated Mid-Atlantic sound to it. Jack rolls his eyes and hugs her. In the back of a taxi, the three are tightly packed next to each other, Jack and his mother sitting tall above his father.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : Are you still seeing Clara?

Jack sheepishly shakes his head.

:: **Jack** : Uh, no, it didn’t work out.

His mother smiles smugly to herself, while his father slowly nods.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : I know a brilliant young professor you could meet-

He quickly shakes his head and waves his hands.

:: **Jack** : No, Dad, no more set-ups.

Later, the three are having dinner in an expansive, elegant restaurant as rain falls outside.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : London’s as gloomy as I remember it.

Jack’s mother takes a sip from her glass of red wine.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : Washington suits us.

Their son smiles as he cuts into his steak.

:: **Jack** : I’m glad. 

The family eats in silence for a few moments, Jack’s dad wolfing down pasta as his mother picks at her salad.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : I think it would suit you as well.

Jack swallows a piece of steak and sighs.

:: **Jack** : Mum, I’m advising the Prime Minister. I’m happy with my job and I don’t intend to pick up my life and move to the states.

She raises her hands in defeat.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : Fine, fine. I just want you to keep your options open. Take it from a senator, you could be a star of American politics. You’ve run countless campaigns, you’ve been senior staff for a number of high profile politicians, and most importantly, you know people. 

He slowly nods, washing down his food with a drink of iced tea.

:: **Jack** : Well, I appreciate it, Mum. I know you don’t dole out praise easily.

She affirms that with a nod as Jack’s father looks up from his meal.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : Are you sure you won’t let me set you up with that professor?

Jack groans, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. 

* * *

A few days later, Meera, Miranda, and Jack are taking a lunch break in the conference room. On the whiteboard behind them, they’ve jotted down some ideas for the President and Prime Minister’s broadcast. The press secretary suggests that the PM’s chair be taller to establish his dominance, while the director of policy has written “PM and President hug???”.

:: **Miranda** : So your mum wants you to quit your job and get back into American politics?

Meera smiles smugly to herself.

:: **Meera** : You’re well-suited for it.

Jack glares at her, stabbing several macaroni noodles on his fork.

:: **Jack** : This is so typical of her. Come back into my life and tell me how I’m doing everything wrong and how I can fix it. Though I do like the sound of President Jack...

The press secretary sips the last of her soda.

:: **Meera** : Yes, well, let’s hope you don’t go the way of the last President Jack.

He’s about to fling macaroni and cheese at her with his fork when John bursts in.

:: **John** : They’re here.

In the lobby, Thea shakes hands with a short, gray-haired woman with a stern expression.

:: **Thea** : Erika. It’s good to see you.

A small smile comes onto her American counterpart’s face.

:: **Erika** : You too, Thea. Melanie’s well?

The chief of staff has a gravelly voice with the hint of a Jersey accent. 

:: **Thea** : She is. Lance?

Erika gives a short, polite nod.

:: **Erika** : He is. Let’s get to work.

John meets with the deputy chief of staff, a balding middle-aged man.

:: **John** : Few people know that my family, the Eatons, were actually remarkably close to taking the crown centuries back.

His counterpart raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side.

:: **Deputy Chief of Staff** : Really? I can relate. My great, great, great, great grandfather is one of the lesser-known signatories of the Declaration of Independence. 

They silently communicate their respect for each other with a nod. Martin escorts the director of communications down the hall towards the conference room.

:: **Martin** : We want to make this collaboration as fruitful as possible, Raphael. We've been working tirelessly on it.

When he sees Miranda, Meera, and Jack scrambling to clean up their lunch to the backdrop of a mostly empty whiteboard, he leads the American down another hallway. Thea and Erika pass by the conference room as the trio tidies up.

:: **Erika** : The President’s very excited about this.

The redhead raises an eyebrow.

:: **Thea** : And you?

The other woman shrugs.

:: **Erika** : Showing unity with our closest ally is always a good idea.

The conference room cleaned up, Miranda, Meera, and Jack stand outside, waiting to meet the Americans. The director of policy checks her watch, which is notably nicer than anything else in her ensemble.

:: **Miranda** : They’re earl-

Meera suddenly looks up and starts sniffing the air, a crazed expression on her face. 

:: **Meera** : She's in the building.

Jack looks at Meera in confusion.

:: **Jack** : Who?

Miranda's eyes go wide as she turns to Meera.

:: **Miranda** : Not her?

Meera narrows her eyes and slowly nods. Jack raises his eyebrows.

:: **Jack** : Okay, somebody tell me who you’re talking about.

Miranda folds her arms and frowns while Meera scowls.

:: **Meera** : The most evil woman to have ever lived.

A woman with bright red hair and icy blue eyes wearing a dark blue sweater and a matching pencil skirt walks down the hall towards the trio, a sugary sweet smile on her face.

:: **The Most Evil Woman to Have Ever Lived** : Miranda! How are you?

The new arrival has a high-pitched, chipper voice and a midwestern accent. Miranda barely manages a fake smile. 

:: **Miranda** : I’m...uh...okay. 

Meera grits her teeth and glares at the redhead. 

:: **Meera** : Jack, this is Mary Jane Hart, the President’s press secretary.

Mary smiles flirtatiously and shakes Jack’s hand.

:: **Mary** : Jack, as in the chief strategic adviser? Pleasure to meet you.

He nervously nods, weakly shaking her hand.

:: **Meera** : Get away from him, you succubus.

The American press secretary chuckles and turns to her counterpart.

:: **Mary** : Meera, you haven’t changed a bit.

A visibly uncomfortable Miranda turns to a confused Jack.

:: **Miranda** : Meera and Mary have history together.

Jack tilts his head to the side, still baffled. An exasperated Miranda sighs at him.

:: **Miranda** : THAT kind of history.

His eyes go wide and he slowly nods.

:: **Jack** : Ohhhh.

Miranda raises her eyebrows. 

:: **Miranda** : We thought you were staying in D.C., Mary. 

The redhead grins and nods.

:: **Mary** : Well, I was going to, but I figured this was too big a trip to miss out on. Have to make sure the President doesn’t flub his lines.

Meera is practically foaming at the mouth at this point.

:: **Meera** : I detest you.

Mary giggles and shakes her head.

:: **Mary** : Meera, it’s been years. Can’t we let go of all that anger? Let bygones be bygones?

Jack’s confusion has turned to fascination.

:: **Jack** : She really likes platitudes. 

For the sake of her work, Meera slowly nods.

:: **Meera** : Fine. While you’re here, we’re two press secretaries, nothing more.

The redhead nods in agreement and shakes her hand. Thea and Erika arrive in the former’s office. 

:: **Erika** : You wake up one day and they’re married with kids, huh?

The chief of staff is looking at the picture of Thea with her wife Melanie and her son Jacob. Her counterpart smiles softly and nods.

:: **Thea** : Unfortunately. 

Erika sits in the chair opposite of the principal private secretary.

:: **Erika** : Here’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about in person.

Thea raises an eyebrow. 

:: **Thea** : Oh?

The gray-haired woman sighs and folds her hands.

:: **Erika** : We’re going to need to make a few changes to the script.

Unsure of what to expect, Thea’s smile disappears and she rests her chin in her hand. 

* * *

Outside Downing Street, a gentle wind blows a few leaves across the ground as the moon comes into view. Inside, Meera, Mary, Miranda, and Jack are all working on the script for the joint broadcast. With the assistance of the American press secretary, they’ve made a considerable amount of progress. A close-up of the conference room’s clock shows it striking eight. 

:: **Miranda** : Alright, that’s all for me. I haven’t seen my wife in…

She checks her watch.

:: **Miranda** : Two weeks. Good night, everyone.

The three wave her goodbye. 

:: **Mary** : Good night!

Jack yawns and picks himself up, putting on his coat.

:: **Jack** : Mum’s dragging me to an opera. Wish me luck.

Meera chuckles and smirks.

:: **Meera** : Good luck.

The redhead nods in agreement. Their other colleagues gone, Meera and Mary sit in a silence that is palpably awkward. 

:: **Mary** : Gosh, I’m hungry.

Her ex slowly nods, arms folded to show that her guard is up.

:: **Meera** : So am I.

The redhead raises an eyebrow and smiles.

:: **Mary** : I think I’m going to have to see what the London culinary scene is like nowadays.

Meera idly flicks a crumpled up piece of paper across the conference room table.

:: **Meera** : Henn’s is good.

Mary stands up from her chair, hands on the table.

:: **Mary** : Yeah? 

The British press secretary clicks her tongue and looks at her nails.

:: **Meera** : Get the seafood pasta. 

The redhead sits on the table, looking down at her former lover.

:: **Mary** : Ooh, seafood pasta and red wine. That sounds nice. 

This spurs Meera to shake her head, clearly frustrated.

:: **Meera** : No, you've got to have it with a white wine. Let me just take you. 

She takes out her car keys and storms out, Mary happily following behind her. At the opera, Jack's father is watching intently as his mother leans in to talk to him. 

:: **Jack’s Mum** : I got you a meeting with Angelina Martin.

Jack raises an eyebrow and turns his head to look at her.

:: **Jack** : The American consultant?

She nods and smiles proudly.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : She has quite the waiting list, but we go way back. She helped me win my seat. She’s the best there is.

He squints and opens his mouth.

:: **Jack** : Why am I meeting with her?

The senator rolls her eyes and smirks.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : To discuss potential offices for you, of course. 

Jack sits back in his chair, an awed look on his face. His father briefly turns his attention away from the opera.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : I know this writer your age…

He groans and covers his face.

* * *

Outside, the sun rises on a new morning for Downing Street. Thea, Erika, Martin, Raphael, John, his counterpart, Jack, and Miranda are sitting in the conference room, scripts in front of each of them.

:: **Erika** : Morning, everyone. We’re here to go over the newest iteration of the joint broadcast script in time for tomorrow.

John is sipping hot tea while his counterpart has a hot cup of coffee. They silently nod at each other.

:: **Thea** : Does anyone know where Meera is? 

Her staff shake their heads. Miranda seems somewhat concerned, nervously biting her nails.

:: **Erika** : Should we wait for her?

The redhead waves the thought away.

:: **Thea** : No, she’d want us to start. 

The director of policy nods and raises her hand, drawing Erika’s attention.

:: **Erika** : You don’t have to raise your hand.

She slowly lowers her hand.

:: **Miranda** : I’ll take an extra script for Meera.

The chief of staff nods and tosses her one. Jack leans in to whisper to her as Erika proceeds.

:: **Jack** : What’s wrong?

She bites her bottom lip.

:: **Miranda** : I left Meera with her evil ex-girlfriend.

He nods slowly and sits back in his chair. As Thea thumbs through the script, she raises an eyebrow in confusion. 

:: **Thea** : There's nothing in here about the school prayer repeal. 

Erika gives a casual nod as Thea folds her arms defensively.

:: **Erika** : My staff decided that it was better to focus on one issue rather than split the broadcast into two.

The redhead narrows her eyes.

:: **Thea** : That issue happens to be your proposed tax cut?

Her counterpart gives a shrug. 

:: **Martin** : Erika, you can’t possibly think this is a fair trade. 

The deputy chief of staff scoffs.

:: **Deputy Chief of Staff** : And yours was? You wanted us to endanger ourselves with the religious right in exchange for nothing.

Miranda holds both of her hands up.

:: **Miranda** : Ours wasn’t either. In our desperation to gain some traction we took advantage of your generosity. Perhaps we can work out a script where we both get what we want and we can walk away happily.

Raphael shakes his head and closes his hand.

:: **Raphael** : We can’t afford to go off message right now. 

Erika nods in agreement, looking to Thea sheepishly.

:: **Erika** : You’ve got yourself a good mediator-

Miranda smiles and blushes.

:: **Erika** :-but Raphael is right. We’ll be happy to scratch your back later. But not right now. And not on this.

The principal private secretary scowls at the other woman.

:: **Thea** : This is bad politics and you know it, Erika.

Erika sighs and rests her hand on her face.

:: **Erika** : It is. But it’s our best option right now. 

Before Thea can respond, Meera and Mary stroll in. The latter has her hand wrapped around the former’s waist and is affectionately stroking her hair.

:: **Miranda** : Oh no.

The young redhead looks at her lover.

:: **Mary** : Meera, honey, what do you think about pushing back the whole “school prayer” thing?

The British press secretary gives a pacified smile.

:: **Meera** : Whatever you want, darling.

Miranda groans and hides her face in her hand. 

* * *

Jack and his parents are shopping in an elegant, sleek clothing store.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : Ah, I missed London fashion…

His mother smirks and rolls her eyes.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : He insists that American tailors don’t know what they’re doing.

Jack laughs and smiles.

:: **Jack** : He’s right. Americans win at food, the British win at fashion.

His parents look pleased at the compromise. Suddenly, their shopping trip is interrupted by a middle-aged brunette woman.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : Angelina? Fancy meeting you here.

The brunette shakes their hands and smiles at a stunned Jack.

:: **Angelina** : Angelina Martin, political consultant. Your mother tells me you might be interested in running for office in the states.

Jack turns to his mother.

:: **Jack** : Mum? Did you arrange this?

She proudly nods, arms folded.

:: **Jack** : If you’ll excuse my mother and I for a moment.

Angelina nods as the two break off into a private conversation. The consultant talks to his father.

:: **Jack** : I told you I wasn’t interested and you went behind my back anyways!

His mother seems shocked that he isn’t pleased.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : I was just trying to do what’s best for you.

He clenches his fists in frustration.

:: **Jack** : I’m a grown man! I’ve made my decisions! Why don’t you and Dad butt out?!

The whole store seems to turn to him.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : Jeez. 

Jack storms out of the shop. In the evening, Meera is waiting outside Downing Street. She looks around, burying her hands in her pockets to help with the cold.

:: **Meera** : Come on…

Miranda walks out, an umbrella in hand.

:: **Miranda** : Waiting for someone?

Meera nods, looking over at her friend.

:: **Meera** : Mary’s supposed to pick me up for dinner.

She slowly nods her head, standing by Meera’s side.

:: **Miranda** : She’s not going to come.

The press secretary raises her eyebrows.

:: **Meera** : She’s changed, Miranda. She’s not the same person anymore.

Her friend tilts her head to the side and frowns.

:: **Miranda** : How many times have you said that?

Meera looks away from the other woman, both of them facing the street.

:: **Miranda** : I remember when you two first met. I was so happy for you. It was like you’d finally found the person who fit you.

Miranda sighs, popping open her umbrella over them as it starts to rain.

:: **Miranda** : But she wasn’t. She treated you like dirt. And she’s still treating you like dirt. You deserve better than that.

She hands her friend the umbrella. 

:: **Miranda** : Keep it. You’re crazy if you live in London without an umbrella.

The raven-haired woman smiles softly before walking to her car. As Meera stands there, a pensive look comes onto her face.

* * *

The American and British staff meet in the halls of Downing Street. While the former is at full strength, the latter is missing Meera. Thea extends a new script to Erika.

:: **Thea** : This is our final offer.

Erika nods and flips through the script.

:: **Erika** : Half the broadcast is dedicated to our tax cut...I appreciate it, Thea, but I thought I made it clear that we can’t compromise on this. 

Everyone’s attention is aroused by the sound of boots clicking along the polished floor. 

:: **Meera** : Yes, you can.

Mary’s eyes widen and she takes a step back.

:: **Mary** : Baby? Sweetie? Suggums? 

Meera glares at her.

:: **Meera** : Be quiet, you witch. You almost had me under your spell again...but I had someone to pull me out.

She smiles towards Miranda for a moment.

:: **Meera** : You’ll agree to using this new script. Because if you don’t, I’ll leak it to every major publication I can get my hands on that you were unwilling to, as you Americans say, play ball. How will that play with your civil rights loving liberal constituents?

The American staff is entranced by her. Erika slowly nods, her lips pursed.

:: **Erika** : Well played, Thea.

Knowing she can’t take credit, she only smiles at Meera.

* * *

Jack opens the door to his apartment in a pair of boxers, holding a bowl of cereal in hand. His parents are standing there.

:: **Jack** : Oh, umm. Come in.

He steps aside, allowing them to enter. His living room is surprisingly neat and tidy for his disheveled appearance.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : We were about to leave for the airport...but I wanted to apologize first.

The strategic advisor looks surprised at the notion of his parents apologizing.

:: **Jack’s Mum** : You are a grown man. And you’ve made a very impressive life for yourself. Whether you want to be prime minister, or president, or stay behind the scenes, I’ll be immensely proud of you. You turned out better than your father and I could have ever imagined.

His father smiles and nods.

:: **Jack’s Dad** : And I promise to butt out of your love life. You’re a young man, you should be playing the field a little.

Jack grins and moves to hug his parents before reconsidering.

:: **Jack** : Thank you. Now let me get dressed, and I’ll take you two to the airport. One thing I’ll say about London is that the cabs suck.

His dad chuckles while his mother smiles proudly. In the conference room, Thea, Martin, John, Miranda, and Meera are eating Italian for lunch. The head of the office stands up and raises her diet soda in the air.

:: **Thea** : Here’s to Meera, our proud and savvy press secretary.

They all clap, John letting out an uncharacteristic cheer. As Meera shovels lasagna into her mouth, Miranda sits next to her.

:: **Miranda** : You did well, Meera.    
  


She gives a humble shrug. 

:: **Meera** : I had help.

John wheels in a television and turns it on.

:: **Newscaster** : I’m Park Williams with BBC News, proud to present a joint broadcast from the President of the United States and our Prime Minister.

The episode ends on their proud faces, lit by the TV.


End file.
